


got stars in his eyes

by invisibledaemon



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/M, Pining, half team fic half starmora
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 06:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13496402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledaemon/pseuds/invisibledaemon
Summary: Some parts of living the rock star life aren't exactly how Peter imagined.Which could be because they’re not exactly, by the technical definition of the term, “rock stars,” as they’re not technically “famous.” Theyaretechnically a college band that plays mostly open mics and the only time they’ve actually gotten paid to perform was at a weird corporate lunch event and that was only because Peter lied about being able to play the blues.





	got stars in his eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So I originally came up with this idea for the 12 days of starmora category "music" but, as you can see, it took me way longer than that to write it. I just rly like imagining these dorks in a band.

Peter, for the most part, loves living the rock star life; the practices, the performances, the clothes, the band -- the stunning lead guitarist in particular. He _really_ loves going out after performances with the rest of the band, drinking and partying and trying to get said lead guitarist to dance with him. 

But some of it, like the _aftermath_ of those parties, isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Which could be because they’re not exactly, by the technical definition of the term, “rock stars,” as they’re not technically “famous.” They _are_ technically a college band that plays mostly open mics and the only time they’ve actually gotten paid to perform was at a weird corporate lunch event and that was only because Peter lied about being able to play the blues.

Maybe the universe is punishing him for that now, actually; that would explain why he’s waking up on the floor of his own room, still wearing all his clothes from the night before, head throbbing miserably and resting on something that smells almost as bad as his breath. 

“What the fuck?” he mumbles when he finally opens his eyes, groaning at how bright it is even though the only light is coming through the gaps between the curtains. He turns his head to see what he’s been lying on and promptly shoves it away, coughing at the smell. “Whose shoe is this?” 

“Drax’s,” a voice answers, his _favorite_ voice, and he squints in the direction it came from. Gamora is standing, leaning against the edge of his bed. Mantis is sitting up on it behind her, holding her head in her hands and looking as miserable as he feels. 

Gamora, on the other hand, looks impeccable as always, though she’s also still wearing her clothes from yesterday. The only sign that she’s any less put together than last night is that her shirt is a bit wrinkled and her hair is slightly less curly. 

“Oh,” Peter says, blinking a couple times. “Why am I on the floor?”

She raises an eyebrow, apparently unimpressed with his inability to remember. “You insisted you were more comfortable there, and that Mantis and I should take your bed.”

“That sounds like me,” he says, managing a cocky tone even though he’s still lying on his stomach on the floor of his tiny dorm room. That memory is at least coming back to him. He’d let Gamora have his bed because he’s a gentleman and also he’d give her everything he has to offer and also _Gamora in his bed_ has kind of been a long-running fantasy of his.

In the fantasy, he’s usually _in_ the bed with her, but still. 

“You also pulled Drax’s boot towards you while he was still _wearing_ it,” she continues.

“That sounds like drunk me,” he admits, slowly turning his head to glance at the other side of the room, Drax’s side, where he’s lying in his bed on his back, snoring. Rocket is curled up on the end of it, the only one of them short enough to fit in that position, and Groot is lying in the hammock that’s strung across the hallway leading to the bathroom. Neither of them appear to be asleep, judging by the occasional groans and winces of pain.

“Aw, Groot got drunk, too?” Peter asks, guilty. Groot may only be two years younger than the rest of them, but they all still feel sort of responsible for him. 

“You _all_ did,” Gamora says. 

“You were drinking, too!” Peter says loudly, then immediately regrets it. “Oh, god, my head.”

“ _I_ know how much I can take.”

“You mean you’re invincible to hangovers,” Peter mumbles. She’s still glaring at him, and he’s struggling to wake up some brain cells to figure out why. It’s not like she gets mad at him every time he gets drunk, so it can’t be just that. 

He really wishes he could remember more of last night. He must’ve done something stupid… Oh, god, what if he hit on her or drunkenly confessed his love for her or something? Setting aside the fact that he wants to do that in a much more elegant way than while drunk off his ass at a bar, he’d also really like her response to not involve glaring.

“I can hold my liquor,” Gamora continues.

“You wound me,” he says, dragging himself into a sitting position, which increases the pounding in his head. Gamora wordlessly hands him two aspirin and a glass of water off the nightstand, so she’s at least not mad enough that she wants him to be in pain. 

He takes them immediately. “Bless you.”

“Where’s mine?” Rocket asks, sitting up rapidly and holding his hand out. But before Gamora can hand him some too, he slaps his hand over his mouth and scrambles off the bed toward the bathroom, ducking under Groot’s hammock. Peter winces at the sound of retching. 

“God, what _happened_ last night?” he asks. Mantis lets out a pitiful moan in response. He doesn’t remember her having more than like two drinks; he sometimes forgets what a lightweight she is. 

Gamora raises an eyebrow. He wonders if she knows how cute she is when she does that. “You really don’t remember?” 

“Jog my memory.” 

“Ronan was there.” 

They all -- Peter, Mantis, and Groot -- instantly groan. From the bathroom, Rocket shouts, “That bastard!” Then he heaves again. 

Drax snores. 

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says, head pounding worse as the memories come back to him. “Ugh, I hate him.”

“We all do,” Gamora sighs. He winces; Gamora’s got more right to hate him than most people, having actually been in his band before this one. “And we all responded by drinking more than usual. That wasn’t enough for you, though.”

“Oh god,” he groans. “Did I try to fight him again?” He looks his body over for bruises or anything in casts, but he appears fine. 

“Not exactly.” 

She clicks the light on, which makes them all groan again, and shoves a piece of paper towards him. 

He takes it, squinting at it in confusion. It’s a flyer, advertising an event taking place at a club near campus tonight. “Battle of the bands?” 

It takes a moment for it to hit him, but the others seem to remember right away. Rocket yells, “Shit,” from the bathroom, Mantis takes her face from her hands and mumbles, “Oh, goodness,” and Groot tries to sign something, nearly falling out of the hammock in the process. 

“What’s so -- oh, fuck.” Peter slaps his forehead when he remembers, which is a painful mistake, but one he figures he deserves. It’s all coming back to him; Ronan seeing them from across the club and approaching with his goons; throwing the flyers over their table and telling them this is what real bands are doing tomorrow night; Peter resisting the urge to punch him in his smug face. “I signed us up for this, didn’t I?” 

“You did,” Gamora says simply. 

“That is hilarious!” Drax exclaims, apparently awake now. He’s still lying in bed, laughing uproariously. Mantis joins him, but she laughs at everything. 

Peter grimaces and Gamora switches her glare over to Drax. “It’s not funny.”

“Why not?” Drax asks, still laughing. 

“Because we _suck_ ,” Rocket says, coming out of the bathroom. He casually stabilizes Groot’s hammock, allowing him to crawl safely out of it. 

“We do not!” Drax exclaims. Groot signs something that Peter can’t fully interpret -- Rocket is still the only one of them fluent in sign language, though they’re all learning -- but he’s pretty sure he’s agreeing with Drax.

Gamora sighs. “We really do. We’re not even a real rock band. Half our instruments are from a marching band.”

Rocket bristles. “For the last time, saxophones are not _only_ for marching bands!” 

“Fine,” Gamora says. “Orchestra instruments, then.”

Rocket bristles and opens his mouth to argue some more, but he’s interrupted by Peter suddenly bursting into giggles. 

“What the hell is so funny?” 

“Nothing.” Peter shakes his head. “Just… Do you realize we had this same argument the day we met?” 

They all just look at him for a second, until the truth of it hits them too. Gamora’s posture visibly relaxes, and Mantis and Drax start laughing again. Even Rocket almost smiles. 

This really is a strikingly similar situation, except _that_ time he’d woken up alone with the flyer stuck to his forehead, and it had been one _he_ made. Apparently, he’d gotten drunk and lonely enough one night to decide to form a band. He even made a flyer for auditions. That part wasn’t really surprising; the surprising part was that he went through with it the next morning, and the even _more_ surprising part was that people actually showed up.

And look, Peter’s not a huge sap… at least not out loud, most of the time… but that’s definitely turned out to be the best decision of his life.

This, though… this is probably gonna go down as one of the worst. 

They _do_ kind of suck. Ronan sucks too, but in a dumb way that other people seem to like, with a low voice that’s totally faked and bandmates that he _pays_ to play with him, so of course they sound good. 

“Okay,” Peter says, now that the tension in the room has lessened somewhat. He stands up slowly, his body protesting every movement. “Look. I know this isn’t ideal, but I think we’re gonna have to do it.”

“Are you nuts?” Rocket exclaims. “Did you miss the part where we suck?”

“We do not suck!” Drax says. 

“Guys,” Peter says, before the arguing can break out again. “We challenged Ronan to his face, okay?”

“ _You_ challenged him,” Drax points out. 

“You all thought it was a good idea at the time!” Peter says, and Drax shrugs in reluctant acknowledgement. 

“We were drunk,” Mantis points out.

“I know,” Peter says. “But the point is that we’re gonna look like cowards if we don’t play.”

“We’ll look like fools if we do,” Gamora says. 

“Maybe not.” The others shake their heads or sigh or look otherwise disbelieving, and Peter lets out a frustrated groan. “Seriously guys, maybe not. We’re all really good individually! Drax, you kick ass on the drums.”

Drax finally sits up and smiles proudly. “I _am_ amazing.”

“And modest,” Rocket mumbles. 

“Mantis,” Peter says, “you can play circles around anyone on the keyboard.” She beams. “Rocket, Groot, I’m pretty sure you guys could be in a professional orchestra.” 

Rocket just tilts his head in acknowledgement, but Peter can tell he’s pleased. Groot plays a couple notes on his flute, which means he’s also pleased.

“Gamora,” Peter says softly, turning to her. “You are the best guitar player I’ve _ever_ heard… well, tied with me.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

“I know we’re not the greatest band in the world when we’re all playing at once,” he admits. “And I know we’re hungover and tired and have like, four hours to prepare, but I bet if we really practice today, we can totally destroy Ronan!”

None of them look convinced. Peter groans in frustration, going quickly over to the bookshelf and pulling out a folded up piece of paper. 

“Look,” he says, unfolding it and showing everyone. It’s a list of about a dozen songs, the words “Awesome Setlist” scrawled on the top. “These are all the songs we can play together while sounding remotely good. If we just pick a couple of them to practice, maybe we can get good enough to beat Ronan.”

“I’m uncertain, Quill,” Drax says.

“Ronan’s too good,” Rocket says sadly. “You’re asking us to humiliate ourselves.”

Peter sighs and turns to Gamora, who’s giving him this soft, considering look that’s totally throwing off his heart-rate. Of all of them, she’s the only one who knows why the songs on this setlist are so important to him. 

“I’m in,” she says, quiet but firm. The others turn their skeptical looks on her and she adds, “Bands are supposed to perform, so… let’s go perform.”

“I will also humiliate myself!” Mantis declares.

Drax sits up straighter, takes a deep breathe, and declares, “You are my friend, Quill, so I will join you in your humiliation.”

“Thanks,” Peter says sincerely. “But do you guys need to say ‘humiliate’ so much?”

“It’s true,” Rocket grumbles.

Groot plays another note on his flute and signs that he’s in, too.

They all look at Rocket expectantly and he throws his arms up. “Fine. Whatever. I guess I’d rather be a fool than a coward.”

“That’s the spirit!” Drax slaps him on the back so hard he nearly topples over. 

“Looks like we’re all in,” Gamora says, smiling at him. 

“Okay!” Peter says enthusiastically. “Okay! So, I think we should open on _Cherry Bomb…_

\---

For a few hours there, he thinks they might actually be able to pull this off. They all drink Drax’s hangover cure -- which is 90% eggs and absolutely disgusting -- and practice their asses off. Everyone hits their cues and has the notes down and his voice sounds amazing, if he says so himself… which he usually does. 

By the time they’re at the club, though, standing backstage while they wait for their turn, Peter’s confidence has diminished significantly. They practiced, they really did, but he has to admit they don’t sound much better than they did before.

They’re the only ones left to go at this point, besides Ronan, but there’s no way he’d be waiting in the same room as a bunch of lowly peasants who can’t afford to pay the owner of the club off for their own private room. 

Peter’s been standing at this mirror for at least five minutes, because the front of his hair just won’t curl quite right, when his concentration is broken by the sound of applause as one of the bands finishes their set. 

He can practically feel the tension in the room ratchet up; Ronan’s next, then them. 

The sound of applause becomes briefly louder when the door to the room opens and one of the members of the previous band comes in. 

“Hey, Dey,” Peter says, clapping him on the shoulder when he passes. 

“Hey, Quill,” he greets cheerily. “Hey everyone! Just gotta grab my jacket.”

“How’d it go out there?” Rocket asks, clearly trying to sound nonchalant, examining his saxophone casually. 

“Pretty well. Don’t think we have a chance against Ronan, though.” He shakes his head as they can hear the introduction out on stage for ‘Ronan and the Accusers’ and applause rings through the club. 

“You’re way better than them,” Peter says. 

“Thanks. So are you guys.”

“You really think so?” Mantis asks, perking up. Groot does too.

Rocket snorts. “No. He’s just being polite.”

Groot wilts and Mantis scrutinizes Dey’s face; Dey looks distinctly uncomfortable. A lot of people are around Mantis. For all her naivety, so has an uncanny ability to read people.

“No, er… I really think so,” Dey says awkwardly. 

“He is just being polite,” Mantis confirms sadly, going back to messing around with her keyboard. 

“We _are_ way better,” Drax says loudly, almost accusatory. 

“Thanks, Dey,” Gamora says, narrowing her eyes at Drax.

“We appreciate the lie, man,” Peter says. 

“Er… right.” Dey grabs his jacket off a chair and backs toward the door. “Well, it’s been strange as usual, guys. Good luck out there. I hope one of us beats that asshole.” He closes the door behind him before any of them can respond.

“I would like to beat him,” Drax says, laughing maniacally and cracking his knuckles. 

“Drax,” Gamora says warningly. “We don’t wanna get kicked out of _another_ club.”

Drax crosses his arms petulantly over his bare chest, his typical performance look. And his typical everyday look, too. Peter’s rarely seen him in a shirt outside of class. It is a pretty good rock star look, he has to admit, especially with all the tattoos. 

The others launch into a discussion about all the various ways they could literally -- but hypothetically -- kick Ronan’s ass, and Peter mostly tunes them out as he goes back to trying to perfect his own rock star look. 

Red scarf, check; at least two necklaces, check; badass leather jacket, check; star-shaped earring, check. Front curl… working on it.

“You look fine, Peter.”

Gamora’s quiet voice startles him. He has no idea how she managed to sneak up behind him while he’s _looking into a mirror_.

“Well, that’s no good,” he says lightly, turning to face her and lean against the wall -- he misses, nearly trips over his guitar case, and catches himself with a hand against the wall instead. He clears his throat and blushes, but keeps it that way, popping his hip to make the pose look deliberate; totally cool, totally intentional. “I was going for devastatingly handsome.”

One of Gamora’s eyebrows goes up in an _actually_ cool, unpracticed move, and she looks him slowly up and down in a way that makes him feel warm all over. 

She takes a step to close the gap between them. It takes every ounce of self control in his body to stay still while she makes a miniscule adjustment to his scarf, then reaches up to twist his front curl around her finger. 

His eyes follow her hand -- the delicate strength in her fingers, the confidence with which she fixes his hair, the way the light glints off her rings. 

“There,” she says softly, pulling her hand away but staying close. He could count her eyelashes.

“Thanks,” he breathes. _Tell her_ , screams that little voice in his head. _Tell her she looks hot -- no, beautiful -- no, gorgeous. Tell her you love her! Tell her you want to hold her and kiss her and go on dates and be together for the rest of your lives -- no, idiot, that's way too much!_

After a few seconds of silence, Gamora seems to realize just how close they’re standing and clears her throat, taking a step back and crossing her arms. “You’re welcome.”

_Way to go, self; you blew it_.

He sighs and takes his hand off the wall, scrubbing it over the back of his neck before swinging it uselessly at his side. “And, um--I’m sorry,” he says, partly just to fill the silence, but partly because he really should get this out. 

“What for?” 

“For--getting us into this.” He gestures around. Groot is practicing notes on his flute that he’s probably had down since he was a baby; Mantis is standing over her keyboard, muttering to herself as she stares down at the keys; Rocket is still “polishing” his incredibly shiny saxophone.

Drax seems totally fine, at least, throwing one of his drum sticks up in the air over and over, but not much ever seems to phase him. 

Even Gamora’s got a tight grip around the neck of her guitar, holding it by her side and absently tapping at the strings. 

Peter’s got his close, too, although he rarely actually uses it when they perform. He focuses mostly on singing, only breaking it out when a song requires two guitars, or an acoustic one specifically. It always comes on stage, though. It’s one of the few things he has left of his mother. The one time he forgot to bring it with him was their worst performance to date, and that’s saying something. 

“To be honest,” Gamora says, “we did all think it was a good idea last night. Ronan was being even more of a jackass than usual, and signing up to challenge him at least shut him up for a bit.”

Peter smiles, grateful. “I wish I could remember that.”

She laughs softly and his heart about melts; a million rock songs out there, and somehow Gamora’s laugh is his favorite sound in the world. She still looks kind of tense, though.

He sighs. “And I’m extra sorry for getting _you_ into it. I know things are weird between you and your sister.”

“Yes, well…” Her face hardens like it usually does at the mention of Nebula, but she shakes her head. “Perhaps after we kick their asses, she’ll quit his band too.”

He nods encouragingly, though he thinks that’s a long shot. Her sister is… interesting. “What do you think our chances actually are?” he whispers conspiratorially so the others won’t hear. 

Not that they would have anyway -- the last notes of the song flow immediately into applause that's just as loud. 

Gamora sighs. “Terrible.” 

His shoulders sag. She reaches over to put a hand on his bicep. “But hey -- the band’s chances of staying together this long were probably pretty terrible, too. Yet here we are.”

“Here we are,” he echoes, smiling softly. 

“Can you two make out later?” Rocket says loudly, startling Gamora enough to pull her hand away again. “We’re gonna have to go on in like thirty seconds.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Peter mumbles, feeling his face heat up. But he grabs his guitar and takes a deep breath. “Alright--Guardians, huddle.”

The first time he’d suggested a huddle, he’d been met mostly with confusion and grumbling (“We’re not a damn football team, Quill.”). But now they all quickly assemble into a circle, Rocket still sighing about it but coming nonetheless. 

“We can do this, guys,” Peter says with a hell of a lot more confidence than he feels, holding his fist out into the middle of the circle. 

Gamora is the first to put her hand in too, as she often is, right next to his. It would be so easy for him to unfold his hand and place it over hers; it’s probably pathetic, he thinks, how much he longs to do the simplest things with her, like holding her hand. 

“If you say so, Quill,” Rocket says, sticking his hand in too as if they’re doing some kind of prolonged fist bump -- which they kind of are, he supposes. 

“I believe in us!” Mantis says cheerfully as her fist joins theirs. 

_Me too!_ Groot signs.

“We are the best band in the galaxy,” Drax declares.

“Maybe a slight exaggeration,” Peter says. “But I like the energy.” 

Outside, the applause is dying down and they can hear the sound of Ronan’s band leaving the stage, the announcer starting up his own mic. Peter’s heart is pounding, and he debates whether or not to say this -- but if they’ve got a shot to really beat Ronan here, he figures he should go with his gut. It’s never failed him before.

Well, okay -- it hasn’t failed him in the past couple hours. 

“I know we said we were gonna do _Cherry Bomb_ first,” he says quickly, trying to get this out in the next ten seconds, “but that’s too safe. I think we should do _Ooh Child_.”

“That’s not exactly a traditional rock song,” Mantis points out.

“I know,” Peter says. “I just think a risk is the only way we’ve got a chance at this.”

The others exchange glances for all of half a second before Gamora speaks. “Alright. We’ll follow your lead… Star-Lord.” 

She smiles. He smiles breathlessly back at her, chest doing funny little jumps at the way his stage name rolls off her tongue. 

“Good!” he says enthusiastically. “We got this. Ready? Guardians of the Galaxy on three! One, two, three --”

They all shout their name, throwing their hands up in the air -- even Rocket, who’s said no less than forty times how stupid this ritual is.

“Yes!” Peter cheers, doing a fist pump and slinging his guitar strap over his chest. “I’ve got a good feeling about this. We’re gonna kick Ronan’s ass!”

\---

“Okay,” Peter says about an hour later. “So, we lost.”

Gamora lets out one humorless laugh. Rocket snorts, lifting his head from where he’d been resting, slumped over on the table. There’s a french fry stuck to his forehead. “We didn’t just lose, Quill; we got our asses handed to us. We lost _spectacularly_.” 

“Well,” Mantis says quietly, with only about a quarter of her usual cheerfulness. “At least we did it spectacularly.” 

Rocket plops his forehead back onto the table, which has got to be unsanitary. They’re sitting in the foodcourt of the local mall, right in front of the Dairy Queen, and Peter doubts they clean their tables regularly. It’s kind of a crappy mall. They have a burger place they usually go to after performances or practices, but they all agreed that it shouldn’t be sullied by this failure. 

“I do not think this is something that is good to do spectactularly,” Drax says, ripping a french fry into tiny pieces.

Groot signs in agreement, something like _That was embarrassing_.

Peter sighs and slumps lower into the booth, the sense of shame rising stronger in his chest. God, this is all his fault. He’s the one who signed them up for this stupid thing, he’s the one who insisted they change the song at the last minute… he’s the one who got pissed _again_ when he saw Ronan watching them from the side of the stage… that stupid, smug look on his face, laughing under his breath and pointing at Groot and Rocket’s instruments. 

He’s about to open his mouth to apologize, to offer to clean all their instruments for a year, or give up his spot as lead singer, or -- anything else he can think of to make up for this, when he feels a hand rest softly on his thigh. 

He looks to his left; it’s Gamora’s hand, and she’s looking at him with some inscrutable expression on her face. 

“I had fun,” she says softly, turning toward the others. 

The others are probably looking at her like she’s crazy, or possibly in agreement, or possibly they’ve all grown extra heads or something for all Peter would notice; he’s suddenly incapable of taking his eyes off of her. 

“You enjoy losing?” Drax asks, sounding confused. 

Gamora rolls her eyes, but Mantis jumps in before she can answer. 

“Me too! I always enjoy it when we play together.”

From next to her, Groot signs his agreement, and something else Peter can’t fully interpret but that makes Rocket snort. 

“He says ‘and Peter is a good dancer.’”

That makes everyone laugh, including Peter, though he’s also burying his face in his hands and groaning at the reminder -- not that he’s forgotten for one second, or that he thinks he’ll _ever_ be able to live it down. 

“Normally I would agree,” he says, lifting his head. “But those weren’t exactly my best moves… Or my best timing.” 

“That is true,” Gamora says, but her voice is soft, almost--affectionate. She still hasn’t taken her hand off his thigh. “It was hardly the time for a dance off.”

“The audience seemed to enjoy it,” Mantis points out. 

“They were laughing _at_ us,” Rocket says, but he’s grinning. 

“Perhaps they were laughing at Ronan’s expression!” Drax says, laughing boisterously. Groot imitates the face Ronan had made. 

Peter laughs too, still blushing. “Yeah, at least it wiped that smarmy look off his face for a bit… and I _am_ an awesome dancer.” 

He leans back and puts his hands behind his head, glancing -- totally casual, totally cool -- over at Gamora.

She smiles indulgently. “You are not bad.”

There’s something about the way she’s smiling at him, and that particular tone, that does things to his heart. To be fair, _everything_ about Gamora does things to his heart, from basically the moment he met her. She was the first one to show up for the band auditions last semester, the first one to support him about this battle of the bands thing… she’s pretty much always the first one to support him, no matter what. 

He’s spent so much time these past few months wondering whether his feelings for her could possibly be reciprocated, and he’s never felt more hopeful than right now. 

“You know what?” he says, sitting up straight again and addressing all of them. “Fuck being embarrassed by this. We got on stage and we had fun. And yeah, Ronan won, but what did he win? A gift card and some lousy applause. He still _sucks_.”

The others make noises of agreement, some louder than others -- Drax bangs his fists against the table enthusiastically. 

Peter continues, encouraged. “He’s probably sitting at home right now, eating caviar and watching Infowars with the people he pays to hang out with him, since he couldn’t find any bandmates the old fashioned way.” 

He gestures to them -- these people, his closest friends, the best decision he’s made in his entire life. “This is way better. I say _we_ won.”

Mantis smiles, tears in her eyes, and Groot nods vigorously. Gamora is still smiling at him. 

“Wow,” Rocket says after a couple seconds of silence. “That was the sappiest piece of bullshit I’ve heard in my entire life.”

“It was indeed!” Drax says, but cheerfully, in a way that suggests he thinks it’s a good thing. 

“It was very nice,” Gamora says, looking pointedly at Rocket, who sighs and shrugs, which is basically a tearful hug, coming from him. 

“Milkshakes on me,” Peter declares, standing up dramatically. The others raise their eyebrows. “Well… assuming you guys can give me the money for them.” 

“That sounds more accurate,” Rocket mutters, as they all pull cash out of their pockets or wallets or bags. 

“Well, I’m going to _carry_ them,” Peter says. Isn’t that gesture enough for these people? He’s not made of money. 

He pockets the cash, then hesitates at the edge of the table, staring at Gamora and warring with himself. _Tell her_ , he thinks again. 

“Are you alright?” she asks. Now everyone is staring at him again, probably wondering whether he’s about to burst into another speech. 

“Yeah, um… actually, could you help me carry the milkshakes?”

“Of course,” she says easily, sliding out. 

He waits until they’re a few feet away from the table before tentatively reaching his hand out to brush against hers. Her hand is slow but sure when she turns her palm and slides her hand up to his, glancing up at him out of the corner of her eye with a shy smile, one he so rarely sees on her. 

It’s not exactly telling her, he thinks, biting his lip over an ear-splitting grin, trying not to _literally_ skip all the way to the DQ… But it feels like a declaration nonetheless.

**Author's Note:**

> The shape of Peter's earring is because of [this](http://phil-the-stone.tumblr.com/post/168593626518/these-are-very-self-indulgent-but-yesterday-i#notes) amazing art


End file.
